


Blame the Photographer

by LadyAJ_13



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, News Media, the world thinks they're together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint get snapped by a photographer in a normal Avengers-battle. The world makes more of this than it really is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame the Photographer

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore most of Marvel's Agents of SHIELD (all I've included are character names and a vague sense of general events happening), and enjoy :)

Phil doesn’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that the world has gone to hell in a hand basket. Well, New York at least. Thailand must be ok or they’d have a big green rage monster helping them smash things. Same as if there’d been problems in the rest of America, Steve would have been answering his phone.

“Comms are definitely down. No contact with SHIELD or Tony.”

Phil is currently sheltering in the mouth of an alley with Natasha and Clint. Tony is somewhere up in the sky, but somehow the monsters have managed to take out even the Stark-approved communication systems, meaning he’s lost to them for now. Natasha actually looks worried.

“Stark likes working by himself anyway,” he answers. They’re all ignoring the possibility that the monsters may have taken out JARVIS, and if so, Tony is probably in a heap somewhere. They have more important things to worry about.

Clint ducks back into the alleyway. “There’s some kind of control unit three streets up – we’re going to have to get there and shut it down. 

That’s a given; until they do, these monsters are just going to keep rising up from the dead and attacking again. It’s annoying. And disturbing.

“Can you shoot it out from here?”

“No. It’s not a blow it up kind of thing – from what I can see there’s a chip you need to remove on the bottom right of the front panel.”

It still amazes Phil how much Clint can see from several blocks away.

“If the comms were working we could get Tony to sweep in.” Natasha looks distinctly disgruntled at the lack of contact with their eye in the sky. As far as Natasha ever shows emotion, of course – Phil files that away to be examined later. 

There’s a loud crash from overhead and they see smoke rising. Clint shins up the one of the buildings until he can see across and grins. “It’s Tony. He’s basically just causing havoc, but he is unknowingly being the perfect distraction.” He hops down again, landing lightly on his feet. “I say full frontal assault – the three of us – whoever gets there first pulls the plug.”

Phil glances out the end of the alleyway. It does look clear; the monsters that had been blocking their way had run off chasing the crashes and bangs. “I’ll cover you from here.”

“No.”

Phil stares at Natasha. His team have never questioned him in the field before and now seems a strange time to start. He’d have expected just after the big ‘I’m not dead’ reveal, if ever.

“You’re too far away here to be any help once we’ve reached the console, right Clint?” Clint nods his confirmation; Phil’s a sharp shooter but it’s too far for accuracy. “Besides, of all of us you look like the least threat. If we get discovered they’ll be aiming for Clint and me – you can slip through the net.” Clint nods again, and Phil takes a second to look at them all. In their black SHIELD jumpsuits Clint and Natasha look every inch the trained, polished professionals they are. His suit is smeared with brick dust. He looks like an office guy that’s got stuck in the middle.

“Ok,” he agrees. “We’re wasting time, so let’s just go. Keep running,” he adds as they hare out of the alley in a line. “If I go down don’t stop for me – stop that machine!” 

His two assets nod their agreement from either side. They’re running in sync, perfectly matched, then there’s space to his right side. “Natasha!” She’s down; hit by something a few paces behind, and although they’re both looking over their shoulders they can’t stop. They’re less than a block away now and even Phil can see the chip that needs taking out.

Suddenly, he’s alone. He falters, looks back, and there’s Clint with red seeping through his jumpsuit onto his fingers. He waves his hand at Phil, and Phil remembers what he told his team. _Don’t stop for me._ He leaps across a hole blasted in the road surface and almost falls on the complicated console. Not stopping to think or look, he just trusts and pulls the plug.

It’s quiet. Far away, he can hear the whine of car alarms and the sound of sirens, but the underlying hum has cut out. A small click attracts his attention, and he whirls round to the right, firing before he has time to register. Luckily, bullets hit green scales not skin, piercing the hull of the monster and dropping it for good.

“Clint.” Phil returns to where Clint has fallen, only to see that he’s already started wrapping himself up with strips of fabric torn loose from a shop’s veranda. He drops to his knees – this suit is past repair anyway, he’s _always_ wearing his favourites when the big shit goes down – Clint’s face is screwed up in pain.

“Natasha,” Clint chokes. “You need to help her, I’m fine.” Fine is an overstatement, but he probably will live. As much as he loves Natasha, though, Phil doesn’t want to stand up. To leave. “Go.”

Phil helps tie off the knot Clint’s fingers are struggling with and stops. He can’t help himself from reaching out. Clint’s face is crumpled but he’s looking up; eyes clear underneath the cloud of pain and meeting Phil’s; he’s alright. Phil cups his hand to Clint’s face, strokes his fingers lightly through the sweat-soaked hair just above his ear.

Thirty seconds later, he’s running again, an unconscious Natasha in his arms.

 

\--

Phil spends the next few days hanging out in SHIELD medical bay. It’s the only way he’ll get Clint to stay in the bed, and it means both of them can keep an eye on Natasha. She’s mostly ok; a bullet to the arm that knocked her off course and meant she hit her head on the way down. She’s had worse (they all have) but the doctors are being cautious because of the head injury and keeping her sedated.

It’s because of this self-imposed exile that he doesn’t see the picture until it’s far too late to try and stamp down on it.

“Really Agent, I had no idea. I’m only sorry you didn’t feel you could tell me – don’t worry, you’re welcome at the Tower any time. I’d set you up a suite of rooms, but I’m guessing that’s not in your master plan anyway-" 

A particularly forceful doctor manages to eject Tony for being a disturbance at this point, but he’s left the tablet behind. 

The picture looks like much more than it is. A moment between friends – one worried, one injured – has become a picture of two lovers through the camera’s lens. Although the comments section below the news story ‘OFFICE WORKER HERO – AN AVENGERS BOYFRIEND?’ haven’t helped. And who – who was it that was stood around at that point and decided to take a photo rather than help the man bleeding out on the street?

“Sir?”

Phil spins on the spot. Clint has finally woken up (he can be a lazy bastard when he feels safe) and is looking at the tablet in his hands curiously.

“Checking up on your news stats? How many twitter followers have you got now?” Clint finds it hilarious that Phil is being held up as some sort of hero, of course. Some other amateur photographer (probably hiding out in one of the buildings, given the angle of the shot) had managed to snap an image of him standing over the machine. It had gone viral, and Phil now hates his life.

“It’s a new image,” he explains.

“Have you been photoshopped into a Superman costume in this one?” Clint grins, his eyes sparkling. “The ‘S’ could stand for Suitman. Because you’re one of us now, so you need a superhero name.”

Clint is reaching for the tablet, but he’s very carefully not leaning over. It’s this that makes Phil hand over the screen. “Not quite.” 

Clint stares at it for a while, and then actually reads the accompanying article and first few pages of comments. He hands it back and smiles. “When were you planning on telling me that my alter ego was having a secret affair with Suitman?”

It’s all Phil can do not to swat Clint in the head with the tablet. But that would be wrong. Clint’s injured and Tony would kill him for breaking his tech, so he settles for a glare.

 

\-- 

That could have been that. Except they seem to have gained dedicated photo hounds, invisible to the naked eye but always capable of getting an ambiguous shot that they can dress up as proof of a relationship.

Tony loves it. He’s collected all the photos and accompanying news stories or blogs into a secure area of JARVIS’ server, ‘for posterity’. Steve had called from Oklahoma – god knows what he was doing there – and stuttered through the start of an acceptance speech before Phil could explain they weren’t really together. Natasha had just shrugged, which was more acknowledgement that he’d really expected, and Bruce and Thor were both off the grid, probably blissfully unaware.

It had started as soon as Clint had been cleared to go back into the field. On their first outing, Phil had twisted his ankle avoiding one of Tony’s repulsor blasts gone wide, and the shutter clicked just as Clint was helping him up again. Tony has declared this print his favourite – Clint’s hands are on Phil’s upper arms, steadying him. Perhaps it does look like the beginning of a kiss. It probably doesn’t help that Phil’s injured foot is out behind him like an old-Hollywood heroine leg flick. He’s also balanced on one leg, so leaning in a little. The fact that there was no kiss – that right afterwards, Hawkeye got called away and Phil had hopped over to the waiting SHIELD van – does not seem to have registered with either the photographer or the press. 

The second time was more serious. Clint had jumped off another building (he was going to give Phil a heart attack one day) but landed messily, screwing up his knee in the process. He’d gone on to take out numerous killer birds with his arrows from the ground, but by the time Natasha slashed the last one from the sky with her knife, his knee was double it’s normal size and clearly painful to walk on. It made sense for Phil, the closest of the uninjured, to wrap an arm round his waist and help him over to the SHIELD medical van, waiting just past the worst of the street damage.

It’s not every time there’s an emergency, but it happens often enough that the public and press are convinced it can’t be a coincidence.

 

\--

“So, you’re not together?” 

News of the Avenger’s recent exploits had reached Thailand, and upon seeing the New York carnage, Bruce has returned (“to add to it”, he’d joked on arrival).

“They’re not admitting it,” replies Tony.

“Tony is our biggest fangirl,” drawls Clint. He’s lying on the sofa, fully healed for once and dressed in a t-shirt and old jeans. His legs are propped up on the sofa back, crossed at the ankle and revealing mucky white socks to the room, while he flips through a magazine. He’s the epitome of being unconcerned.

“No, we’re not,” confirms Phil. He’s the opposite of Clint right now; stood up, dressed in an immaculate suit (so no doubt there’ll be a call to assemble later) and drinking coffee nervously. He doesn’t know Banner that well, and given his… control issues, he’d been wary of broaching what could be a potentially upsetting topic.

“The camera never lies, Agent. And I have a truly impressive back catalogue of compromising snaps of the two of you!” Tony grins. He’s wired and fidgety, and Phil winces as he bounces right up to Bruce. But somehow, Bruce seems to tolerate Tony better than any of them. “Want to see, Brucie?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before tugging the other scientist out of the room.

“Well that went well,” comments Phil. He puts down his coffee mug and circles over to the window. They’re thirty floors up and the view is incredible.

“Don’t know why you were worried,” replies Clint. “Bruce has got a handle on the big guy now and he’s all peace and love to everyone anyways.”

“Sometimes people react differently when it’s in their own backyard.” 

There’s a presence behind him, and then a strong hand on his shoulder. “Want to watch some TV? Tony Tivo-ed all the Supernanny episodes he could find. I think it was meant to be a joke, but…” Clint shrugs.

In the end, there isn’t a call to assemble. There’s just a lazy day of TV on the couch, which ends with Tony snapping a picture of him sleeping on Clint’s shoulder.

 

\-- 

_Trouble in Avenger-land?_

_Sources close to the Avengers are concerned, after public noted seeing Iron Man helping an injured Hawkeye post-battle. Where was everyone’s favourite ‘office worker’?_

“ _It’s worrying, because he’s always there. Has something happened to him? Have they split up? They have such dangerous lives… the not knowing is the worst.”_  

Clint snorts, drops the paper on the table and picks up his phone. At the answering click, he launches in. “Is that everyone’s favourite office worker? I’d like to enquire where you were when the giant spider took a bite out of my leg.”

“ _Everyone’s favourite office worker would like to remind Hawkeye that he was 20,000 feet in the air with his new team, and that Hawkeye shouldn’t have been in range of the spider’s mouth anyway.”_

“It’s called adapting on the fly, sir.”

“ _All the same, I’d prefer if you didn’t replace the fly as the spider’s next meal.”_

“So you do care! Great, I’ll take that as proof that we haven’t broken up. The media thinks we might have, given your absence.”

“ _Getting lonely, Barton?”_

Clint takes a minute to respond to that, because yes, actually. He’s bed-bound (or couch-bound, currently) and while he has Dummy to fetch him drinks and new magazines the lack of human company is starting to get to him.

“I have the lap of luxury all to myself, why would I miss you?”

It’s perhaps a bit more barbed than he intended, but Coulson had chosen to fly off with his new team instead of stay home.

“ _I’ll be back in New York in three days. It’s only a brief stop but I’ll come round.”_

“You don’t have to. I know how manic those pit-stops can be.” One time, he would have been on them with Coulson. The two of them and Natasha would split ways for a matter of hours – just long enough to unpack, re-pack and grab a bite of whatever they’d been craving – before coming together again and heading off to the next job.

“ _I want to.”_

“Ok.” 

There’s an uncomfortable pause, before: _“You’re keeping the weight off that leg, right?”_

“Yes sir,” Clint responds, but he’s not sure why he feels so empty about the words. They’re words he’s said a thousand times. There’s silence again from the other end of the phone, but if he strains, he can just make out tinny raised voices.

“ _I have to go; Skye’s winding Ward up again.”_

“Go then,” responds Clint. He plasters a smile onto his face – he read somewhere that smiling can show in your voice. “Go wrangle the kids,” he adds. 

There’s a huff of a laugh, and then the call disconnects. Clint looks around the living room and rests a hand on Dummy’s claw.

 

\-- 

“…just wish you’d stop getting injured all the time.” There’s a sigh, and a weight against his left shoulder, but Clint is comfortable stretched out on the couch in that half-asleep, half-awake void, and lets himself drift. Quieter, he hears: “Especially when I’m not here to catch you.”

There’s a hand on his hair, and that’s always been a weak spot for Clint. He feels himself react before he realises it might be a bad idea, burrowing into the petting like a cat.

The hand freezes, and Clint blinks. “Don’t stop,” he mutters. Slowly, the hand – Phil's hand, it turns out – begins stroking again.

“So, I asked Melinda to lead the next op.”

“May?” Clint turns his head, nose hitting the outside of Phil’s thigh. If Hawkeye snuggled, that is what he would class this as, but obviously he’s far too manly to snuggle. Phil’s fingers play with the hair just above his ear and Clint shivers.

“Yes. She can more than handle the team. Although I’m not sure she thanked me for passing off Skye-wrangling onto her.”

“What time do you head out?” Hopefully not for an hour or two. This is… nice, ok?

“They left an hour ago. You’ve been asleep a long time.” Phil’s fingers seem preoccupied by that bit of hair above his ear. Clint’s mind flashes back to the picture that started this all.

“So… you’re not going?”

“I have a lot of holiday to use up and someone needs to stop you getting an infection in that leg,” Phil non-answers.

“I’m going to have a pretty impressive scar,” Clint announces. “But the doctors released me – I didn’t check myself out – and Tony has JARVIS monitoring it anyway.” He pauses. “Is that the only reason you’re here?”

“No,” Phil’s hand is smooth and methodical in Clint’s hair, as if he’s concentrating on it too much.

“Good. Well, at least we don’t have the awkward ‘coming out’ to plan. The world already thinks we’re fucking.”

Phil stops, shocked, and laughs. He shrugs to himself. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

\-- 

They plan it anyway. Once Clint can put weight on his leg again he’s back with the Avengers, although stationed on a rooftop he’s not allowed to leave until after the fight is over (“Even if the building’s coming down?” “We’re fighting what appear to be marshmallow men; they’re not going to blow up your building, Clint.”).

For once, things go smoothly. The marshmallow men (Phil still isn’t sure how this is his life) aren’t hostile, and what started as a battle turns into a rounding up mission. Clint talks constantly in everyone’s ear, pointing out fluff balls that are wandering off, or have been ‘adopted’ by passers-by. Once the streets are clear, he heads down to street level by taking the stairs, like a normal person would. Phil is there to meet him. Or, more accurately, throw his arms around him and kiss him. 

Clint grins into the kiss, one arm around Phil’s waist, one still holding his bow. There are flashes all around as cameras and phones capture the moment, hollering fans on the side-lines and Tony making an obnoxious comment on the comm set he hasn’t turned off yet. But Phil really couldn’t care less.


End file.
